The Deception
by misselizabeth19
Summary: Lucy, a passionate yet lone girl from the moors of Beruna, is opened up to a society of glitches and misleading truths. When Telmar invades, her love that is knit tightly will be unraveled by gothic horror and how we are either true or treacherous.


**A/N I sincerely apologize to my readers for my very long absence. School became too hectic and I just couldn't keep a consistent schedule for fan fiction. This story has been in development for several months now, and I have finally found time to write it. I generally based the plot on my own accord, but have had many influences from different stories. I also consider this story to be loosely related to gothic literature, which I have become quite interested in. It contains no slash or incest and none of the pairings are related.**

Chapter 1

Peter of Hertford

Lucy could not sleep. Her forehead was damp with perspiration and she had a feeling of anguish that vexed her eyes to close. Batting her eyelashes, she lifted her head from the matted pillow and stretched her arms out.

Lucy tossed her long braid over her shoulder. As she did so, she peered over and glimpsed at her sister, who was sleeping in the next bed.

Her sister, Susan, took slow and steady breaths, while her chubby bottom lip quivered at the quantity of in taken air. She somehow resembled a goddess, who closed their shiny eyelids in deep thought.

Lucy never knew how someone so beautiful and accomplished as Susan could be related to the rest of her erratic family.

Her mother was an impulsive speaker and not very smart; and the occurring tremor and palpations of her outbursts were rather provoking, which made for very embarrassing social situations. George, their brother and the only male of the house, was aloof and had a very bad impression on strangers.

Lucy herself was a private thinker, though not completely irresponsive in social relationships. They were tolerable, but not satisfying. She would rather spend her time between the hills, where the wind blew so sweetly.

Growing up in Beruna, Lucy had been acclaimed to the quiet but appealing country life. Her biggest entertainment was walking down from the Grange, to the riverbed by the Great River, piled with rocks and boulders, and it lay in a wide arch between the moors. Their mother could not afford to send her and the siblings to school, and there were no other important activities to draw her away from the homestead.

Of course, with the money they did have, the child had had a governess, named Lady Polly, who still lived with them.

Lucy slipped her feet from under the sheets. The purple curtain ruffled in the light breeze, and the harvest moon had withdrawn from the sky, for daylight was beckoning over the horizon.

She left the room quietly. The paneled hallway was dark, with no lattice or source of natural light. Lucy had always had a strange notion about this hallway, and she couldn't help but putting the expense of her fears on the painting of her dead father, which hung in the center of the wall. Every time she loud eyes on it she could hear a soft cry. Lucy didn't know if she was imagining it, but the more she stared at it, the cry became louder, eventually turning into an unbearable shriek.

Once Lucy had even come to the conclusion it was the ghost of her father's spirit, coming to avenge those who had done wrong to him. Mr. Pevensie was buried under the vault, in a graveyard across the long field. In the portrait, he appeared to be erect, but his shoulders slouched and it made him seem lethargic and disinterested. His skin was pained a light fleshy colour, blended with the fruits of warmer, caramel tones on his cheeks and the outline of his broad chin. His small features and tight ginger ringlets softened the edges of his sharp and square jaw. Lucy had inherited the same hair, though much less without the emphasized curl or wave. But Mr. Pevensie's most impressive feature was his green eyes.

The staircase led to another little hall passage, which eventually came to the sitting room. It included the parlour, and the kitchen was in a separate quarter, with the clatter of culinary utensils, and baking, boiling, and roasting within. The parlour was small and plainly furnished. The hearth was in the center of the room, and glowed with the sparks of tanned beads of ember when ignited. On the ledge were ornaments and some canisters placed, while piles of immense dishes and different spices towered to the roof in a large oak dresser.

Lucy went through to the kitchen. There was a wooden table centered in the middle of the table, with six chairs. The meals were usually cooked in the roasting pit in the corner, and it looked so dirty as if it had not been washed or properly tended to in ages.

There was a back door, which was used for when her father employed laborers, and they would go back and fro through the door, carrying large sacks of oats and flour, and jars of milk and barrels of cream and sugar. It was mostly abandoned now.

Lucy reached for the key she always placed in the cupboard with the jams. She turned the key in the lock, and the door flew open, carrying a blast of air from the outdoors.

The outlet led to a pathway to the garden – well many years ago it had been a garden; now it was a bunch of restless, leafy, shrubbery that grew too thick and coarse, and Mrs. Pevensie never intended to restore her husband's passionate work from an early, futile death. There was only but a single apple tree that continued to thrive amidst the grave on the Grange, and it was home to a family of birds, whom Lucy would often have a quiet talk with.

Lucy walked through the long plain of grass, which eventually led straight to the jagged rocks, which were amusing to climb. Between the arch of the moors, Lucy could see the rainbow coloured sky which sparked hues on the sheets of thin ice.

When she finished her walk, Lucy trotted her way back into the house. Opening the door into the kitchen again, she let another sharp cold breeze in. When she shut it, Lucy found Lady Polly by the basin, doing the washing with soap.

Lady Polly had been the Pevensie children's governess. She had given them a decent education; they had covered the basics with english, math, history, and a brief introduction to the ancient Narnian dialects. In addition, Susan was taught to play the violin and could play it quite well. Lady Polly was a sweet temperamental woman who had grown so attached to the three children, she could not bear to leave, and also, she had no family. Lucy in particular, had grown close to her.

"Morning Polly." Lucy said, realizing she was shivering from being outside. Polly looked up, as a frown graved her features. She had silvery grey hair pinned in a tight bun, with prominent cheekbones that didn't sag with old age, with strong features.

"Lucy Pevensie, you'll catch a death one of these days," she muttered, half to herself, taking her pink shawl and wrapping it around Lucy's shoulder's for warmth, "Don't laugh! 'Ain't funny."

Lucy continued snickering into her white sleeve of her nightgown, while Polly went back to her work. "You sound like mama, always trying to restrain me. I am not a little _girl_ anymore, and I shan't be treated like one."

Polly tightened her thin lips and dipped her bony hands in the ice-cold water of the basin.

"Honestly, running the moors like a little child? Someone your age should be practicing formal etiquette; only way you'll end up with a decent husband, 'tis with manners."

Lucy suddenly felt very angry. She did not like being reminded of how to be a lady. She stamped her foot and kicked a bucket viciously multiple times in the corner of the room. She sat on it, and murmured words under her breath in her extreme vexation.

"Oh now, stop this tantrum, they'll hear ya!" Polly said crossly, placing the dripping wet clothing on the table.

"Who?" Lucy asked, now calm down. Polly put her fingers to her lips then replied in a much softer voice,

"It's that very loudmouthed Mrs. Edwards. She seemed to have something very important to say, so Mrs. Pevensie took her into the parlour and locked all the doors."

As Polly took the basin and emptied the water outside when she finished the washing, Lucy made a scowl when she heard Mrs. Edward's name mentioned.

She had always disapproved of Lucy, for some unknown reason, and scolded her for being a troublesome villain. Mrs. Edward's was always the fist one to stick her long nose in everyone else's business, which is why Mrs. Pevensie was in favor to call her a 'close friend'.

"I don't like her much." Lucy remarked coolly, as Polly returned, "She's always so-"

At that moment, the other door blasted open, and Mrs. Pevensie stood there, her face a deep red and looking very breathless. She emerged into the kitchen, taking a seat. She remained silent, until she burst out,

"Oh Polly, get all our best ingredients and cook us a nice breakfast, will you? Lucy for Aslan's sake put on a decent outfit, you're soaking and terrible! Mrs. Edwards has just told me the most wonderful news!" Mrs. Pevensie needed to take a few deep breaths before she went on.

"It appears the king's nephew is coming to live at an estate near the Western Wood (the estate, I know not the name of) and Mrs. Edwards told me Mr. Edwards has set to wait upon him! I shall do the same thing myself, the very next morning."

Lucy did not think much of the news, and judging from her empty and vacant expression, neither did Lady Polly.

"Why did he decide to come?" Lucy asked, mostly for the purpose of over-exciting her mother.

"What?" Mrs. Pevensie snapped, cocking an eyebrow, "Oh I do not know! Never mind that! Polly, make me some tea too, my nerves are making me dizzy."

Lucy knew this was all part of her dear mother's attempt to arrange Susan, the pretty one of the family, a marriage with a very wealthy man. She had tried many times with Dukes and Barons, but the young ones seemed to loose interest when the conversation included words like 'matrimony' and 'eternal love'.

"Ah, if it was not so early in the morning, I could do with a large brandy. Oh Lucy, go fetch your brother and sister, and ask them to present themselves nicely for breakfast."

Lucy obeyed, and walked through the parlour, and saw Mrs. Edwards seated in one of the red armchairs, looking irritated. Lucy was determined not to meet her cold stare, but sure enough, she lifted her horrible, ugly face and gave Lucy a look of disapproval.

Lucy did not bother to greet her.

Lucy found Susan sitting by the vanity in their room. Her dark, loose curls framed the back of her delicate neck with her full pink lips and black, penciled eyelashes.

"Good morning, Lucy." She said cheerfully. Lucy feeling a bit irritated, responded hastily,

"You must get dressed quickly, we have a visitor." When she spoke, she realized she had not returned Polly her shawl.

"Who?" Susan asked, tucking on of her curls behind her ear.

"Mrs. Edwards," Lucy said distastefully, as if she was speaking of something very revolting, "Apparently King Frank's nephew is living at some estate. I couldn't be bothered with any of it –"

But it concerned Susan, for she immediately went into the small dressing room, and changed into a purple gown with ruffled sleeves and a corset with a tight bodice.

Lucy did not bother to change, and she wasn't going to boast or enhance anything special about her appearance to Mrs. Edwards.

They left the room, and saw George climbing up the stairs, looking quite pale.

"Are you alright?' Susan asked and her cheeks flushed from excitement.

"I believe I found a witch sitting in the chair." George said, his blue eyes blinking back and forth. Lucy once again covered up her laugh in her sleeve, while Susan gave a look of disapproval.

The two girls came down first, George, looking very dull as usual, joining them shortly after. Mrs. Edwards, giving up on ignoring them, greeted them harshly.

Mrs. Pevensie of course, was extremely vexed that Lucy had not change, for she had a glowing piercing look in her eye. But, since there was a visitor, she could not lash out in anger.

When breakfast was served, she went into detail about the king's nephew, who she heard from Mrs. Beaver in the market. His name was Peter, and had been training on some remote island for eight years, and there was to be a ball in a fortnight at the castle. His estate was called Hertford.

Mrs. Pevensie once again became very red, especially when Mrs. Edwards said proudly; "I will be taking Charlotte to the tailors for a new dress. Of course, I am sure she would be just as beautiful if she wore a plain frock! She is a gem, my Charlotte!"

Charlotte was Mrs. Edward's daughter, who wasn't even pretty, but with swallow skin and a large nose with thin, greasy black hair. She was seventeen, the same age as Lucy. Mrs. Pevensie, to look just as good, expressed delightfully how she would be taking the girls for a new dress.

Mrs. Edward's left, saying she was too busy to stay for tea, as left Ashton Grange in bubbling excitement.

Lucy snuck out afterwards for another walk.


End file.
